


Thicker Than Water

by shenshen77



Series: Brothers'verse [3]
Category: Bourne Legacy (2012), The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventures in Africa, Brotherly Bonding, Clint Barton and Aaron Cross are brothers, Gen, Hurt Aaron Cross, Hurt Clint Barton, Hurt/Comfort, Mines are dangerous, both are badass still, but are frequently mentioned anyway, the ladies are busy elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-15
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-23 14:37:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenshen77/pseuds/shenshen77
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aaron and Clint learned of each other’s existence a few months ago when Natasha brought Aaron and Marta into SHIELD on Fury’s behest. Now the brothers go on a mission together and get to really know each other when faced with a struggle for survival.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
> 
> Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna for helping me figure out how to make this fic better :D And to missm0neypenny for helping me fix my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable, thank you :D And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on, and to frea_o for word wars and pointing out that I overused passive voice ;) Thanks ladies, you are awesome!

Aaron checks his harness one last time as he watches Clint rappel down the rope from the helicopter and disappear in the jungle’s lush canopy. He links himself in and follows as soon as he hears his brother’s “All clear” through the comm. As he descends, a cool breeze momentarily replaces the hot, humid air of Côte d’Ivoire. He feels an urge to whoop loudly as he breaches the first branches and only his training and professionalism prevent him from doing so. He unclips his harness from the rope as soon as he lands.

“Man, that was fun,” his heart beats fast as he smiles widely at Clint.

Clint shrugs, a slight smirk graces his face as he mutters something that sounds suspiciously like trapeze and tightrope, but Aaron can’t really understand him over the sound of the helicopter as it flies off. He resolves to ask Clint about that later, stows his harness in his backpack, and turns to his brother.

“You think that Yankees’ game next weekend will be as fun?” Aaron asks Clint, who grins.

“As long as there’s beer and hot dogs, I’m sure we’ll have a good time.”

Aaron grins, “That sounds about right. Now let’s set this right so we’ll be home in time to actually go.”

They’re here to take out an illegal diamond mine that makes the owners millions of dollars a year. Money that finances wars and genocides all over the continent. Aaron has walked through burned out, ruined villages in West Africa, the stench of death thick in the air. Bodies had lined the streets - men, women and children alike - slaughtered in the name of one war lord or another. He had felt sick for days afterwards and he relishes the opportunity to blow this mine to kingdom come.

“Yeah, you’re right. We only have three hours to get there and I don’t want to waste daylight.”

“I’m ready, lead the way,” Aaron replies, conceding the lead position to Clint.

Clint blends into the jungle as if he belongs there, moving like a cat on the prowl, his camouflage pants and olive shirt hiding him well. And Aaron is sure that if anyone chanced a glance, he would look much the same to them, their silhouettes near identical. The only difference between their gear is Clint’s bow and quiver strapped onto his specially made backpack instead of the standard one Aaron carries.

The brothers silently make their way to the mine. Aaron spends the three hour trek focused on the dense foliage around them and he’s soon able to distinguish the calls of several different birds and other animals. It’s growing darker and darker as they move deeper into the jungle, to the west and away from their drop point, when Aaron’s keen ears pick up a new sound. He whistles lowly, catching Clint’s attention and motions him to hold up as Aaron takes his Beretta from its holster, releasing the safety. His brother immediately reaches for his bow, unfolds it and nocks an arrow before he looks intently at Aaron. Clint inclines his head minutely and raises his brow in silent question.

Aaron closes his eyes, as he lets his senses stray outward and tries to recapture the sound he’s heard. And there it is again, to his right, an almost unperceivable rustling of a large body moving through the underbrush. He calmly looks at Clint, points toward the direction of the sounds, and then something large and furry hurtles towards him with a loud growl. Clint’s arrow whistles past him just as he’s about to pull the trigger and a large dappled cat freezes mid-jump, the force of the arrow’s hit at this short range propelling it backwards. Aaron’s heart suddenly thumps wildly as he looks at the enormous leopard dead before him, an arrow neatly embedded in its chest.

Then he looks at Clint who smirks at him while packing away his bow and it’s easier to breathe.

“Nice shot, Locksley,” he laughs at Clint.

“Nice call there, Lassie,” Clint replies with a smile. “You okay?”

“Lassie? That’s what you’re going with? Really?” Aaron throws back at Clint good-naturedly as he stows his gun in his thigh holster.

“I’d certainly trust you to get me out of a well,” Clint snarks.

Aaron scoffs, “I’m more likely to push you into one right now.”

Clint bursts out laughing, his face a maze of laugh lines, and it’s so infectious, Aaron can’t resist joining in.

“Can’t say I blame you, kiddo,” Clint grins and claps Aaron on the shoulder. They walk on shoulder to shoulder, sniggering for quite a while yet.

 

They reach their destination just as dusk falls and Clint immediately searches for a perfect vantage point from which to guard Aaron. Clint has a clear image of the mine’s topography as well as the underground maze in his head, thanks to STARK Industry’s latest imaging satellite. The mine is a big hole in the ground with five entrances leading into the tunnels below the hills. Aaron’s mission is to set charges to blow up each of the entrances. A guard tower stands strategically in the middle of the depression, large spotlights ghosting over the area in seemingly random patterns. Not random enough for Clint, who knows that he’ll have no problem keeping Aaron hidden in the shadows.

Clint finds his sniper’s nest at a strategic point set on a slight incline that affords him a perfect view over the mine’s bowl while keeping him hidden behind ferns. Aaron nods in approval of the location and Clint silently spreads out his gear before he activates his comm link. Aaron follows suit and flicks his own to life.

“Test, test,” Aaron whispers and Clint gives him a thumbs up when he reads him loud and clear. Clint cracks his neck to alleviate some of the tension and smirks when Aaron mirrors his movement unconsciously.

“You ready? I’ll guide you,” Clint murmurs.

Aaron nods sharply and replies with a grim smile, “I hope your eyes are as good as they say.”

“Don’t you worry, kiddo, I got your ass covered,” Clint answers and swallows down the worry that tightens his throat as he clasps Aaron’s shoulder.

“You better, old man,” Aaron replies with a predatory grin. “Marta likes my ass whole. And she might seem harmless…”

Clint chuckles soundlessly as Aaron picks up his pack and slinks into the night.

A few minutes later Aaron’s voice comes through the comm link. “I’m in position.”

Clint takes a deep breath, watches the spotlights dance over the red earth. “Alright, go now.”

Clint only sees him move because he knows where to look. Aaron is agile and lithe; he seems to melt into the rocks behind him before he slinks into the first entrance just as the searchlight flashes over the spot he had just occupied.

Clint focuses back on the dancing searchlights until he hears a satisfied, “One down. Take me to the next.”

And so begins their dance. Clint calls the moves and Aaron glides out of the tunnel, weaves through the pattern of light and darkness the searchlights paint on the mine’s walls before he dives into the safety of yet another mineshaft.

They repeat this pattern until Aaron declares, “That was the last one, coming in now.”

And that’s the moment Clint feels the steel of a gun’s barrel press into his back. Well hell.

“Lower your bow and turn around,” a male voice demands in accented English.

Clint obeys and comes face to face with three men; mercenaries from the look of them, Europeans most likely. And they’re big. He grins.

This is going to be fun.

 

Aaron sets the last charge and arms the detonator with a satisfied smile.

“That was the last one, coming in now.”

But instead of Clint’s affirmation and direction he hears Clint say, “Well, hello boys.” A grunt follows and Aaron recognizes it as Clint’s from all the times he has watched him spar with Natasha.

“Hawkeye,” Aaron calls - those are definitely the sounds of a fight coming through the comm.

No reply. Aaron’s stomach clenches.

“Hawkeye,” he repeats, more urgently.

“For fuck’s sake, Hawkeye, come in,” Aaron growls when the comm is suddenly silent.

He creeps closer to the tunnel’s mouth; about to throw caution to the wind and just head for his brother, when a large dark shape hurtles towards him from the direction of their nest. Aaron lunges to the side, rolls, and brings up his knife as he stands face to face with – “Clint?”

Clint has rolled as well and crouches on the tunnel floor now. He shakes his head like a dog dislodging water then stands with a wince and says, “Fucking mercenaries, I lost my comm.”

Just then a loud alarm claxon starts up.

“Ah fuck,” Clint curses and looks at Aaron. “Do you have the detonator switch?”

Aaron nods and takes the device from his pants pocket, “Yeah, right here.”

“When I tell you to hit it, you do, no questions, okay?”

Aaron nods and Clint grins maniacally.

“Alright. Now run!”

With those words Clint grabs Aaron’s arm and pushes him further into the mine.

Aaron hears Clint’s pants over his own, his brother always a step behind him. The eternal darkness of the tunnel is just about to swallow the last bit of light filtering in from the open pit when Clint yells, “Now!”

Aaron flips the switch and a bright light replaces the dark. The blast’s shockwave sends Clint hurtling into Aaron. He is knocked off his feet, then his head crashes into the tunnel wall with a sickening thud. Pain erupts in his skull and shoulders, and darkness swallows him whole.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D

Clint comes to slowly. His ears are ringing and his head throbs. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, one pain bleeding into the next. He coughs the dust of the cave-in from his lungs and groans as his quiver presses into his back. The hot, stale air smells faintly of smoke and he remembers the explosion, shoving Aaron ahead of him, a blast of hot air and then nothing.

“Aaron,” he breathes and his throat constricts.

He winces as he chucks his quiver, flexes his fingers and reaches for the Mag-Lite in the right pocket of his cargo pants. He flicks it on, the halogen beam falls on stones, red earth, splintered railroad ties heaped a good ten feet from him - and Aaron. He is lying face down underneath it all, everything from his shoulders up hidden by a large splintered support beam and fallen rocks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clint curses as he heaves himself up.

A sharp pain stabs through his left leg as he puts weight on it, tearing a strangled yell from him and he falls right back on his ass. He looks down and there’s a long, bloody piece of wood protruding from his thigh. He follows its form with his eyes and sees its opposite, less soiled end sticking out behind him. Instantly the dull pain he felt all over his body a minute ago separates into individual bruises, cuts and the throbbing mass that is his thigh. Fuck, he thinks as his stomach clenches and he starts to shiver, fuckfuckfuck.

No time for this, Clint thinks. He takes a deep breath and bites his lip when he hauls himself up with a growl that’s equal parts pain and determination. Sweat covers him instantly as he uses the tunnel wall for support and limps to where he can see Aaron’s head and right arm protruding from the pile of debris. Clint’s heart hammers against his ribs like a herd of horses on the run when he notices his brother’s absolute stillness. The few steps separating them are torture to cross, his leg screams at him as he bends awkwardly and touches his trembling fingers to his brother’s neck. The pulse is strong and Clint releases his pent up breath when Aaron clamps his hand around Clint’s wrist and inhales deeply.

“Hey, it’s me. Aaron, it’s me, I’ve got you,” Clint soothes. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“Clint?” Aaron faces away from Clint, a fact that the older man is thankful for, and his voice sounds distant and harried as he says, “Head hurts, but otherwise I’m good. Just my shoulders, they’re stuck. Please, get me out. I –“ he swallows audibly and starts to squirm, ”I just really, really want out.”

“I’ll get you out, don’t worry. I’ll just have a look, alright?” Clint answers.  
He tries to keep his voice even as he inspects the pile of debris for a way to free Aaron without injuring him or burying him further. The fallen support beam pins Aaron’s shoulders, a couple of larger boulders are wedged in between the wood and the mine’s wall. Clint breathes a sigh of relief that none of the stones have hit Aaron’s head and quickly recognizes a pattern to the seeming chaos. He groans as he heaves the first stone off and lets it fall where it can’t do more damage.

“Are you okay?” Aaron asks with concern.

Clint takes a deep breath to steady himself and shakes his head in an attempt to keep the encroaching nausea at bay.

“I’m fine. Dude, seriously though, what’s with you and falling stuff?” he snarks and breathes out harshly as he removes another stone.

“Must be my natural charm,” Aaron quips back. “Nature’s just fucking attracted to me. Have I told you about that wolf pack up in Alaska?”

Clint scoffs and tries to suppress a groan as he lifts another boulder out of the way. He wants to respond, but his leg almost gives out beneath him and he can’t contain the pained grunt that slips out.

“Clint? What’s going on?” Aaron asks as he tries to wiggle free. “You’re not okay, are you?”

White spots dance in front of Clint’s eyes and he breathes heavily. This does not look good, he thinks.

“Just need to… catch… my breath.”

“Fuck you! Tell me what’s going on,” Aaron demands.

“Got a… a splinter… in my… my leg,” Clint pants out and pushes at the next boulder. He dislodges it and it rolls into the tunnel. Almost done, he notes with relief as the muscles in his damaged leg start to spasm.

“A splinter? Seriously? That’s the problem? A fucking splinter?” Aaron scoffs.

“Shuddup, almost done here,” Clint grounds out as he slides down the tunnel wall, unable to stay up anymore.

The pain from his leg pulses through him, he can feel it in his fingers as he claws and pushes at the debris lodged between the beam and the wall. He breathes heavily, sweat coats his body, but finally there is enough space for the beam to dislodge. Clint slumps to the side, spent.

 

Aaron heaves a sigh, pushes up and slides out from underneath the four-by-four. His head throbs and his shoulders protest every move as he shakes the dust from his short hair. He winces when he stretches before he turns to Clint and gives him a quick once over in the glow of the flashlight. His stomach drops and his eyes grow large as he takes in Clint’s thigh.

“Fuck, THAT’S what you call a splinter?” Aaron asks, incredulous as he grabs the flashlight from where it has fallen and hurries to Clint’s side. “That’s a fucking tree, you ass!”

“Semantics,” Clint huffs and Aaron wants to head slap him.

“Stupid fucker,” Aaron mutters and yanks his knife from its sheath, his shoulders scream at the sudden move. “Never heard of the first rule of first aid, huh?” He cuts open Clint’s pants leg with a little more force than necessary and Clint groans. “Always take care of your own injuries first.”

“It didn’t seem that bad,” Clint presses out through clenched teeth.

“You can’t save anyone if you bleed out, Clint,” Aaron says as he bares Clint’s leg.

The fabric splits easily and Aaron’s stomach jolts when he sees the full damage for the first time. The beam of the flashlight reflects off a dark piece of wood roughly the length of one of Clint’s arrows, about two inches in diameter. Its jagged edges glisten with blood where it protrudes in the front, marking it as the exit wound. Blood sluggishly wells out of the torn flesh, it has left thin crimson trails over the spasming muscles of Clint’s leg and down into his boot.

“Fuck,” Clint grounds out.

Aaron fully agrees and takes a deep, calming breath before he speaks again.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” Aaron says in a steady voice as he looks around them for their supplies.

“First aid kit’s in my backpack,” Clint grounds out when Aaron carefully palpates the wound.

Clint’s muscle spasms intensify, a sheen of sweat coats his face as Aaron levels his gaze on him.

“And where’s your pack?” Aaron demands as he digs his fingers into Clint’s groin, searching for the vein in an attempt to slow the bleeding.

Clint groans and he clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist. “The nest, had to leave it.”

“Fuck,” Aaron swears, then pats his cargo pants until he finds what he was looking for and smirks. “Good thing I always carry an Israeli, huh?”

He brandishes the battlefield tested emergency bandage at Clint who gives him a thumb up.

“You’re awesome,” Clint huffs and digs his fingers into Aaron’s arm again and tugs. “Do you still have your comm?”

Aaron reaches for his ear and finds it empty. He shakes his head and asks, “You?”

“No, lost it in the fight with those goons.”

“Fuck,” Aaron says and looks at Clint.

The older man’s face is set in grim determination as he demands, “Take it out. The splinter, you have to take it out. I won’t be able to walk while it’s in there.”

Aaron stiffens and shakes his head, “You can’t be serious. If it’s damaged a major vessel you’ll bleed out before I can do anything to stop it. I can’t risk that.” I can’t risk you is left unsaid.

Clint swallows visibly, then insists, “Listen, kiddo. SHIELD won’t dig us out. We can’t sit around. I need a doc. There’s a back exit, saw it on the scans.”

A back exit? He raises an eyebrow as he looks at Clint, who seems to take it as acquiescence.

“Not gonna bleed out, promise,” Clint rasps out, his face set. “But either you yank it or I will.”

Aaron shakes his head and exhales slowly, “You really are nuts, aren’t you?”

“Runs in the family,” Clint replies with a grimaced smile that shows way too many teeth. Aaron can see his lip tremble.

Aaron takes a deep breath and asks, “You’re serious about this? You really want me to pull it out?”

Clint huffs, “No. I want a shitload of painkillers and my bed. But I need you to pull that thing out.”

Aaron nods and says, “Need my pack first, there’s water in there. Gonna have to clean that fucker.”

He turns and closes his eyes for a second to push down the apprehension that threatens to swallow him whole. Aaron lets the flashlight’s beam ghost around the space they’re in until it lands on the pack, half-buried under the rubble he’d lain beneath earlier. His shoulders ache fiercely when he stretches and tugs the pack to him.

He takes a deep breath before he turns and arranges his features into his ‘mission face’. It worked on Marta when he had to get her to cooperate at first. He had tried to look calm and reassuring, non-threatening and in control and Marta had responded well to it. His gaze is watchful but warm when it alights on Clint’s face, which is glistening with sweat. Aaron takes a bottle of water from his pack and offers it to his brother.

“Fuck, I’m screwed,” Clint says and declines the drink with a shake of his head.

“What? Why?” Aaron asks, dumbfounded.

“You have the same look as Nat right now,” Clint replies with a shaky smile. “Never bodes well.”

Aaron smirks, “Speaking of Natasha, you should probably bite down on something, wouldn’t want to damage those pearly whites, huh? Natasha would skin me alive if I brought you home damaged. Well, more damaged.”

His eyes settle on Clint’s shooting glove and the archer nods and lifts his shaking hand. Aaron gently takes his brother’s wrist and peels off the glove with steady fingers. Clint’s pulse beats rapidly beneath the clammy skin and when the well-worn leather finally comes off it is soaked with sweat. Aaron swallows hard around the lump in his throat and holds the glove out to Clint who opens his mouth and cringes as he bites down.

Aaron’s heart thumps wildly as he straddles Clint’s legs and wraps his hand around the woodchip at the back of Clint’s leg. It is nearly dry there, only a few red rivulets mar its surface. Clint groans when Aaron touches it and he slams his eyes shut and coils his muscles.

“Don’t forget to breathe, Clint,” Aaron says calmly, his left hand steady on Clint’s hip, while his right grips the wood tightly. He inhales deeply and pulls.

Clint screams.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest gratitude to my wonderful beta missm0neypenny, your comments had me squeeing and laughing like a madwoman ;) Love to anuna, who also greenlit this for posting and to venitinmentem for cheering me on :D I love you all :D 
> 
> Comments are love, so if you like what you read, please let me know, thank you!

Aaron pulls and the wood retracts with a squelch. Clint’s gut-wrenching, guttural scream, only slightly muffled by the impromptu gag, drowns it out immediately. The hairs on Aaron’s neck stand on end, and he swallows to keep the rising bile down. He pulls steadily until the splinter is free and Clint sags to the side with an undignified _ungh_.  
   
Aaron throws the dark wood aside contemptuously and removes the glove from Clint’s mouth to allow him to breathe easier. Bright red blood wells sluggishly out of the corresponding wounds and Aaron takes a deep breath as he hastily reaches for the water bottle, unscrews it and pours half of it onto Clint’s leg to wash some of the contaminants away. He sets the bottle aside and picks up the battlefield dressing.  
   
He tears off both plastic wrappers – the fucking thing is packed like Pepperidge Farm bread – before pressing the first non-adhesive bandage pad to the slightly larger exit wound. He then slides the movable extra pad to rest atop the entry wound in the back of Clint’s thigh and winds the elastic bandage around the leg once before he threads it through the pressure bar and pulls.  
   
Clint jerks awake with a gasp as Aaron pulls the bandage tight and reaches for Aaron’s arms.  
   
“Fuck,” he splutters. “What the hell’re ya doing?”  
   
“Hold still, I have to make sure it clots,” Aaron commands, the slip to military tone easier than expected.  
   
He wraps the bandage tight around Clint’s thigh and secures the end with the built-in clip before he presses down on top of the bandage, his shoulders screaming in protest.  
   
Clint groans, clamps his hand around Aaron’s wrist and sucks in rapid little breaths. The older man’s grip on his arm is bruising, and the strength in it helps Aaron relax minutely.  
   
“Deep breaths, Clint, I don’t want you to faint.”  
   
“Fuck you, ‘m not gonna faint. You try to breathe through Superman squeezing the blood outta your thigh and then we’ll talk,” Clint grunts.  
   
“Superman, huh?” Aaron smirks.  
   
Clint’s grip is white-knuckled. “You’re stronger than you look, kiddo,” he breathes out through clenched teeth.  
   
“I think you have to rethink your definition of kid, old man,” Aaron says with a smirk and releases his vice grip on Clint’s leg.  
   
“’m not old, just older,” Clint grumbles. He closes his eyes and thumps his head against the wall repeatedly.  
   
“Be careful with that birdbrain of yours, Hawkeye,” Aaron teases as he trains the flashlight’s beam onto the wound.  
   
“’m not a birdbrain, shithead!” Clint grouses but stops his motion.  
   
Aaron keeps an eye on the wound, smiling inwardly.  
   
“Well, you giving yourself a head injury on top of the flesh wound will help nobody.”  
   
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Clint mumbles.  
   
Aaron sits down beside Clint, their shoulders touch and he feels the urge to be as close to his brother as he can be, so he leans into the contact. Clint trembles beside him, a low thrum running through his muscles.  
   
“So, what do we do now?”  
   
<><><><><><>   
   
“Now you help me walk out of here,” Clint says and he can’t suppress the shudder that courses through him at the thought.  
   
“How do you know that no one will come for us? SHIELD came for me last time,” Aaron asks, all business.  
   
Clint swallows against his dry throat before he explains, “That was a planned op, just had to move up the schedule for the ground troops. And… there were other factors in play.”  
   
One look at Aaron and by the way his jaw sets, Clint knows his brother understands. Clint had run the op and he made sure that Aaron got out alive. Aaron nods and hands the open water bottle to Clint.  
   
“You first,” Clint rasps, and pushes Aaron’s hand back.  
   
“Don’t be a dick, I have more. Now drink.”  
   
Aaron holds out the bottle to Clint again and watches him as Clint closes his trembling fingers around it. The water feels like salvation when it hits Clint’s parched, sore throat and he drinks eagerly.  
   
“Okay, so SHIELD won’t send ground forces for us. You said you could get us out, how do you propose to do that?” Aaron asks and Clint can feel his eyes on him.  
   
“They almost drilled through the other side of the hill. Saw it on the scans of the place.” Clint takes a deep breath and drinks some more, feeling his energy return with every sip. “Should only take a little C4 to get us out. It’s why I chose to go deeper into the tunnel. Best chance for us, for you.”  
   
Clint hears an exasperated sigh from his left and immediately feels a sting as Aaron thwacks him hard on the back of his head. Clint’s hand shoots up to rub across the tingling patch of skin and he looks at Aaron accusingly.  
   
“Whatcha do that for?” he whines.  
   
Aaron’s features are blank and he hisses lowly, “Don’t you pull that self-sacrificing crap on me. I don’t need a protector. I had to take care of myself for thirty fucking years and I survived just fine. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fucking glad you’re back in my life, but I don’t need you to pull the big brother act on me. Where did you get the notion that I need that?”  
   
Clint swallows audibly and replays the words in his head. He recalls Aaron dancing in the shadows of the searchlights, how evenly matched they are when they spar, the ease with which Aaron masters the parkour circuit at SHIELD and he knows that Aaron is right.  
   
He cringes and a slight smirk crosses his face. “Alright already, don’t get your panties in a twist, kiddo.”  
   
Aaron sighs exasperatedly and rolls his eyes. He mirrors Clint’s smirk and says, “Get up, old man. We, and I mean the both of us, are getting out of this shithole.”  
   
Clint nods and Aaron kneels next to him, puts his arms around Clint’s back, and gently pulls Clint up. Aaron’s arms are steady and strong as pain lances through Clint’s leg. He moans and digs his trembling fingers into Aaron’s shoulders to keep upright. The tunnel wall is rough at Clint’s back, its solidity and Aaron’s unwavering strength grounding him as he rests his head on his brother’s shoulder until his breath has evened out.  
   
“You with me?” Aaron asks him and Clint is almost certain that he heard a hitch in his voice at that.  
   
Aaron waits until Clint nods a tightlipped assent to let go and Clint almost tips to the side.  
   
“Shit, damn it, damn,” Clint curses and claws for Aaron’s arm while he tries to regain his equilibrium.  
   
“Yeah, I feel you, brother,” Aaron says and rubs Clint’s shoulders until the dizziness finally passes. “You okay to stay vertical?”  
   
“Think so,” Clint grounds out and exhales deeply.  
   
He shivers when Aaron removes his hands again and Clint closes his eyes. His leg is pounding and white flashes dance behind his lids with every beat of his heart. He counts to ten, then Aaron’s warm hand grasps his bicep and Clint opens his eyes. Aaron holds out Clint’s quiver with a grim smile. The determination in his eyes eases the tightness in Clint’s stomach. Mirroring his brother’s expression, Clint slips on his quiver, then Aaron collapses the bow and stows it in the holster at the small of the archer’s back. The familiar weight wrenches a contented sigh from Clint, Aaron chuckles in response as he picks up the flashlight.  
   
Aaron’s pack is slung low on his back when he pulls Clint’s left arm across his shoulders. Clint thinks he can hear a pained moan escape his brother’s throat, but when he looks Aaron’s face betrays no discomfort. Clint can’t suppress a grunt when Aaron kicks away the last of the rubble from the fallen support beam before he helps Clint navigate the area. The tunnel is small and for once Clint is thankful that he’s not the tallest guy and that his brother is even more compact than he is. He gasps as a thought of tall, dark, broad-shouldered Barney springs to his mind and he shivers.  
   
“You okay?” Aaron asks and holds him closer.  
   
“Yeah. Good you’re not Barney,” Clint grounds out and he feels Aaron perk up.  
   
Clint’s stomach turns the moment the words leave his mouth. He has never spoken of their older brother beyond stating that he died a few years ago, and now he just wants to banish the thought of the older Barton back to where it came from .  
   
“Yeah? Why is that?” Aaron asks and Clint can detect hope to hear more in his voice.  
   
“He was tall,” Clint deflects with a pained smirk on his face. “Would’ve made this a hell of a lot harder.”  
   
“Is that all he was?” Aaron queries with a slump of his shoulders.  
   
“He was an ass,” Clint grounds out. He says nothing else, just bites his lip and follows Aaron’s lead through the tunnel.  
   
The heat inside the badly ventilated mine makes breathing a chore for Clint and he leans heavily on Aaron as he limps down the dark shaft. The flashlight’s bright beam wavers over the tunnel’s ragged surface; the subtle motions play tricks on his mind and make him seasick. His leg throbs and feels at least three times as big as it actually is. Every step sends a jolt of icy electricity through his shattered nerves and up his spine, sweat coating his whole body. He can’t suppress the sounds of pain completely, but tries for Aaron’s sake.   
   
He loses all concept of time, counting each agonizing step he manages as a win. It’s only his iron will and Aaron’s solid mass beside him that keep him going. He leans heavily on his brother and he really is glad that it’s him and not Barney next to him. The pain in his thigh and the darkness around him take him back to that rainy night in the circus seventeen years ago. Their fight, the pain, the betrayal… He shudders at the memory and the muscular arm around his waist holds him tighter.  
   
“It’s okay, you’re doing good,” Aaron says next to him, his voice sure and strong.  
   
Clint scoffs. He knows he’s not even in the vicinity of good. Blackness encroaches on his sight with each thumping beat of his heart. He can feel it strain against his ribs. His head throbs in perfect time with it. Aaron groans softly when Clint leans on him more heavily.  
   
“You hurt?” Clint ask and berates himself for his neglect.  
   
“Bruises. Nothing bad, don’t worry,” Aaron placates and holds Clint more securely around the waist.  
   
Clint breathes a sigh of relief and his mind wanders again. He gets lost in the hypnotic play of the flashlight’s beam across the walls – the pain, the exhaustion, it all becomes irrelevant.  
   
“How long did you say this tunnel was?” Aaron asks him after what feels like a lifetime.  
   
Clint shakes his head to clear his mind and tries to remember the layout from what he saw on the carrier’s screen. A long shaft leading into the earth, branching out into a warren of smaller tunnels as it leads farther underground.  One of these is almost long enough to breach the other side of the mountain. He just has to make sure not to get them lost on the way.  
   
“Dunno,” Clint chokes out in between harsh breaths. “S-saw a junction about halfway.”  
   
He should tell Aaron how to navigate the warren, make sure he will get out, but before he can act on that thought his right leg slips on loose gravel and he has to put weight on his mangled leg to keep upright. All-encompassing pain shoots white hot through his body, tearing a scream from his throat before he allows the rapidly approaching blackness to swallow him whole.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse as Clint won't stop bleeding. Can Aaron save him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna for helping me figure out how to make this fic better :D And to missm0neypenny for helping me fix my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable, thank you :D Your comments on the text made my day, I'm all in favor of getting Aaron that gift ;) And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on, and to frea_o for word wars and pointing out that I overused passive voice ;) Thanks ladies, you are awesome!

Clint’s momentum almost takes Aaron down with him. He drops the flashlight to get a better grip on his brother as Clint goes boneless with a strangled yell.  
   
“Shit, shit, shit,” Aaron curses as he regains his footing and clutches Clint to his chest like a rag doll.  
   
Aaron’s bruised shoulders protest at the sudden movement and his headache ratchets up a notch as pain flashes through him hot and fast. He swallows it down and curses under his breath as he carefully lowers Clint to the ground and retrieves the flashlight.  
   
One sweep of the light shows him the loose end of the bandage, hanging around Clint’s knee. Without the pressure, blood has moved past the fabric and run down Clint’s leg. _Fuck_ , Aaron thinks as he rolls Clint onto his right side to have better access to the wound and puts the flashlight in his mouth to free his hands.  
   
Aaron shucks his pack and unravels the bandage. The wound looks worse than it did before, the ragged edges red and puffy, emanating heat. Blood continues to sluggishly well out of it and Aaron sets the flashlight down beside him before he presses the slipped bandage’s dressings to both injury sites. Clint moans when he feels the pressure on his leg, but apart from an attempt to fist his hands he remains motionless.  
   
Aaron’s stomach drops when he feels Clint’s blood soak through the bandages a few minutes later and he forces his mind into mission mode, setting morals and emotions aside to do what’s necessary. He refastens the bandage and presses harder. Clint jerks and draws in a deep breath, whimpering as he releases it. Aaron’s bile rises at the pitiful sound. He’s never had such problems keeping his cool in a situation like this, but then he’s never been with an injured family member. He swallows his emotions and exhales slowly.  
   
“I’ve got you, Clint, relax,” Aaron says, his voice steady and warm as he unconsciously repeats Clint’s earlier assurances back to him.  
   
“Wha’ happ’nd?” Clint asks drowsily.  
   
“You took a nap, princess. It seems you’ve been bleeding for a while.”  
   
“Huh,” is all Clint replies, but it quickly turns into a moan when Aaron puts yet more pressure on the wound-sites.  
   
Aaron curses under his breath when he feels Clint’s blood soak through the fabric. His mind whirrs ~~,~~. Clint can’t lose much more blood and there’s only one solution he can think of. He bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath before he lets go of Clint’s leg. Aaron rummages in his pack for his multi-tool and his other water bottle. He nearly sighs with relief when he also finds a second battlefield dressing and he places all these next to Clint, then takes off his shirt and cuts it in strips which he lays on Clint’s side to keep them off the floor. Aaron ejects the magazine from his Beretta and removes two bullets.  He quickly unscrews them with the help of his tool, then he pries a length of wood from a close-by support beam and lays it next to the Zippo he takes out of his pants. He unravels the useless bandage again and discards it before he douses a length of fabric with water and lays it neatly around the gaping wound in the front of Clint’s leg.  
   
He shakes his brother’s shoulder and waits until glassy eyes fix on him before he says, “Clint, I’ll have to cauterize the wound. It won’t stop bleeding and if I don’t do this, you’ll bleed out. And I won’t have that, not if there is anything I can do about it. Do you understand that?”  
   
Clint nods weakly and holds his brother’s gaze. Aaron smiles reassuringly then flicks on his lighter, holding the tinder into the flame and watches as the wood slowly starts to burn. He hands Clint the leather glove and watches as he raises a shaking hand to his mouth and places it between his teeth. He nods again and Aaron sprinkles the gunpowder onto the wound, then sits across Clint’s legs.  
   
He mouths, “I’m sorry,” then lowers the glowing ember to Clint’s thigh.  
   
Clint’s scream is muffled by the leather gag, but the stench of burning flesh and the look of agony on his brother’s face threaten to turn Aaron’s stomach. Clint writhes beneath him until Aaron smothers the flame with the wet cloth. Aaron removes the fabric to find that the blood flow has stopped, the skin looks angry and charred. Clint breathes heavily and is shaking slightly when Aaron helps him turn further onto his front and wets the cloth again. He upends the second bullet onto the other wound and briefly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and lights the gunpowder. Clint bucks weakly, a muffled sob tears from his mouth. Aaron gags again at the stench but gives the flame the chance to do its work before he smothers it the same way he did the previous one.  
   
He takes the glove from Clint’s mouth and Clint sags, silent tears running down his cheeks.  
   
Aaron wraps the last of his bandages around the wound when he feels his bile rise once again. His hands are shaking and the stench of burned flesh overwhelms his senses. He swallows hard and breathes deeply through his mouth until the nausea fades.  
   
He slowly straightens and faces Clint, who is spilling the last of their water all down his chest. Aaron closes his hand around his brother’s fingers and steadies them. “Here, let me help.”  
   
Clint takes a slow sip, and although the flashlight points towards his leg, Aaron can see the ghost of a smile flits across his brother’s sweaty, pinched features in the faint glow that reaches Clint’s face.  
   
“Thanks. Ya did good, kiddo,” Clint enthuses and Aaron smiles.  
  
<><><><><><>  
   
Tears silently run down Clint’s cheeks by the time Aaron is done, his nerves going haywire with the multitude of pain signals and he loses himself in them for a second, his mind completely blank. The last thing Clint remembers before his world turned white hot is Aaron, his eyes pleading for understanding, saying _I’m sorry_.  
   
He feels sick, but there is just nothing in him to bring up. His throat painfully dry, he reaches for the bottle of water Aaron left by his side. His hands shake so badly that he spills water all over himself, but the first sip is heavenly.  
   
Then Aaron’s hand curls around his own and he helps him steady the bottle. Clint gratefully takes a sip and it helps him focus. His leg throbs relentlessly, worse than before, but a ghost of a smile flits across his face as he looks at his brother, who is almost invisible in the faint glow.  
   
“Thanks. Ya did good, kiddo,” he breathes out through the pain and watches Aaron’s rigid posture relax minimally before he has to close his eyes as a wave of pain rushes through him.  
   
Aaron’s hand closes around his shoulder; Clint blindly reaches for his brother’s arm and clamps his fingers around it when the pain doesn’t let up.  
   
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Aaron’s voice seems distant against the rushing of blood in his ears. There’s a faint rustling and then something small and round is pressed into his free hand.  
   
“Found some vicodin in my pack, I think you should take it.” Clint nods and Aaron helps him sit, guides his hand to his mouth and holds a bottle to his lips to wash the pill down. “It should help take the edge off.”  
   
 _You being here is taking the edge off_ , Clint thinks, just holding on to the solid presence next to him. Aaron is silent, but his hand is warm on Clint’s clammy skin, it grounds him, lends him strength.  
   
“You’re not like them,” Clint mumbles.  
   
“Not like who?” Aaron asks and there is something in his voice Clint can’t pinpoint.  
   
“Dad, Barney,” Clint answers, his heart clenching at his older brother’s name.  
   
“Tell me about them, Clint,” Aaron replies and now Clint can clearly identify the curiosity in his voice.  
   
So he gathers his strength and starts talking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't say it enough, lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna_81 for helping me figure out the characters :D And to missm0neypenny for helping me fix my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable, thank you :D And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on.
> 
> WARNING!  
> This chapter will mention non-sexual child abuse. I just want you to be aware of this, it's not explicit, but I did state in the first fic in this series that Daddy Barton was a drunk ass and he beat Aaron so badly that he caused him brain damage. This will be picked up on in the brothers' talk about their upbringing.

“Don’t remember much of Dad. I remember being scared. I remember his belt,” Clint shudders at the memory, and takes a deep breath before he continues.

“I remember a lot of time spent in tight, dark places, hiding. Don’t like those. I think you must have been there with me, because I remember not being alone, and it wasn’t Barney with me.”

“You protected me,” Aaron says and Clint thinks he can detect a note of awe in his voice.

“Barney did, he shoved me into the cupboard under the sink when dad got loud. I must’ve taken you with me, you were so little still. Think we made up stories, I remember whispering.”

“You made sure I was quiet when we hid. You protected me,” Aaron insists and closes his hand around Clint’s bicep, squeezing it.

“Huh, guess you’re right,” Clint replies, his heart lighter all of a sudden.

“He looked out for me, for us, Barney did. I remember him being there after…” he shudders again and points to his back, where thin silver scars mark the impact of his father’s belt.

“What about our mom? What was she like?” Aaron asks softly, and Clint thinks he can hear longing in his voice.

“Don’t remember much. I think she was sad a lot. She sang to us at bedtime. “Singing in the Rain.” She smelled like flowers. Gardenia, I think.”

“I wished I could remember even that much,” Aaron mutters sadly, and Clint’s stomach contracts in sympathy.

He shakes his head softly, “I’m kinda glad you don’t. That way you don’t remember the fucked up shit either.”

“I think I would have liked to remember you,” Aaron states.

“You were better off not to, it seems. If you’d stayed, you’d have ended up in the circus. Or dead.”

“I ended up a lab rat,” Aaron throws back with revulsion in his tone.

“I’ve always liked rats,” Clint replies with a smirk. “There was this guy in the circus. He had trained rats and they were –“ he bites back the rest of the sentence at the look Aaron throws him. “What?”

“So you really were in the circus?”

“Yep, the ‘Amazing Hawkeye, the world’s greatest marksman’.”

“I thought the guys in training were just shitting with me,” Aaron replies, incredulous.

“Nope. We ran away from the orphanage, joined the circus. Ya should’ve seen me perform. I was incredible,” Clint reminisces.

(He doesn’t mention the beatings when he had missed a shot during his performance. Aaron doesn’t need to know that. Natasha knows, and that’s enough.)

“Yeah, I bet you were. You still like to put on a show, old man.”

“Do not. Just have a flair for the dramatic, ‘s all.”

“You’re a right drama queen, that’s what you are,” Aaron deadpans.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing, kiddo,” Clint flings back and releases a deep breath as he feels the painkillers kick in.

“I honestly have nothing to say to that,” Aaron replies. “But you obviously must feel better.”

He still feels like shit, but that won’t change until they are back in civilization. “Yep, I think I’m good to go. Just need a hand getting up.”

Clint pushes onto his elbows, tiny dots immediately dance in front of his eyes. His stomach contracts and for a moment he thinks he might throw up as cold sweat breaks out all over his body. Then Aaron’s arm is behind his back, steadying him, helping him right himself.

“Nice and easy, we’re in no hurry,” Aaron calmly instructs Clint, who nods and swallows hard as he tries to keep his stomach from turning.

“Fuck this,” he groans when the world has stopped spinning, he’s drenched in sweat and breathes heavily.

“You’re doing great, don’t whine,” Aaron encourages him as he places Clint’s quiver in his older brother’s lap.

Clint shrugs into it, the familiar weight and feel settling his churning stomach. Aaron puts on his own pack and picks up the Mag-Lite before he snakes his arm around Clint’s waist and pulls Clint’s left arm over his shoulder. “Ready? Or are you gonna puke on my shoes?”

Clint huffs and gripes, “Shut it, smartass. No, I’m good, just gimme a lift.”

Clint grits his teeth when Aaron straightens and hoists him up, the world tilts on its axis for a moment before it rights itself. Aaron’s arm is strong and sure around him, and Clint leans onto his little brother gladly. His leg is once more throbbing from being upright, although the pain is now dulled and subdued. The painkillers have taken the edge off and he is more than thankful for that.

“Do you think you can walk?” Aaron asks concernedly when Clint huffs as he puts a little weight on his leg.

“Yeah, not a wilting flower, you fuck,” Clint grinds out, but his weight is almost completely supported by Aaron, who only holds him tighter.

 

“I’ll believe it when I see it, you stubborn mule,” Aaron smirks back as he helps Clint take the first step. He keeps them close to the right side of the tunnel so Clint can use the wall as an additional support.

“Ass,” Clint grounds out and Aaron grins.

“Jerk,” Aaron spits back as they shuffle forward slowly, his brother’s weight resting almost solely on his aching shoulders.

“Bitch,” Clint replies, taking a bit more of his own weight again. Aaron smirks, that’s the Clint he’s come to know these past few months.

“I’m glad we understand each other,” Aaron deadpans, the Mag-Lite’s beam ghosts over the tunnel ahead of them, it throws the uneven walls into sharp relief. He doesn’t mind the close quarters, never had a reason to fear the dark or small spaces.

“Yeah, ‘m glad too,” Clint huffs, his left hand squeezes Aaron’s shoulder affectionately.

Aaron suppresses a groan at the spike of pain in his back and swallows the sudden emotional lump in his throat.

“You know, I never had anyone who really cared. About me,” Aaron says. “The personnel at the state home in Reno were nice enough, but there were too many of us and too few of them. They tried though, to make us feel at home. And there were always kids to play with, which was nice, especially when I was younger.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Clint’s mouth quirk up in the ghost of a smile, so he continues and his voice fills the tunnel together with their shuffling steps.

“I just wanted somewhere to belong when I had to leave after high school, so I joined up. And I liked the army, three meals, something to do. I had friends there, they didn’t mind that I was slow. I did my job and I was thorough, aiming to please. Man, was I eager to please. And that’s all the army wants from an infantryman, right?” He chuckles.

Clint scoffs, “Yeah, been there. Didn’t like it that much… Too many rules, not enough info.”

“Yeah, I understand how that would be strange for a sniper. Now I understand that. Back then I didn’t mind. I wouldn’t have been able to follow the reasoning in most cases anyway,” he shrugs nonchalantly.

“You’re still a bit thick,” Clint quips and earns himself a head slap from Aaron.

“And you’re using a weapon from the Stone Age, asshat.”

Clint chuckles, “But I’m fucking good with it.”

“Yeah, well, I have to give you that. How did you end up with the bow?”

“Stumbled upon it in the props tent. Tried it out, hit the mark almost immediately. Jacques saw me.” Aaron can hear the loathing in Clint’s voice as he says the name and vows to get behind the story of Jacques someday too. “I was all of ten years old. He thought I could make him a lot of money. Or well, money. Thought he could train Barney an’ me to do an act together. But Barney…, well, he sucked. So I ended up a star in the ring while he cleaned the cages.”

Clint’s left hand has a death grip on Aaron’s shoulder and he leans heavily onto his younger brother. Dread settles in Aaron’s stomach as he listens to Clint talk about their older Brother, knowing that Barney’s story wasn’t pretty. Then the flashlight’s beam illuminates a turnoff from the main tunnel in the left wall, and Clint gestures to it.

“That’s our exit,” he smirks and Aaron grips him tighter around the waist as he changes course. This burrow is smaller than the one before and Aaron can feel a shiver run through Clint when the walls seem to press in on them.

“Really don’t like small spaces,” Clint huffs, his voice carries in the enclosed space.

“I feel you, brother,” Aaron commiserates, before curiosity urges him to ask, “So, what happened with Barney?”

“He got jealous, I think. Started hanging with the wrong people. Got into trouble. Jacques was skimming from the circus’ takings. He roped Barney in. I found out by accident, threatened to tell Carson, the owner. Man, I was so naïve. Never believed they’d hurt me, just thought they’d stop. But nope… Guess there was more of dad in Barney than we both thought,” he trails off and Aaron’s throat constricts at the betrayal he can still hear in Clint’s voice.

“They left me half dead in the rain when they split. Carson found me. Took me to the hospital an’ moved on. I was seventeen and on my own when I got out. I was broken and broke. Did some shady stuff to support myself. Joined the army. Then Fury found me and recruited me into SHIELD.” Here his voice picks up and Aaron can feel Clint trying to straighten up, then slump against him with a hiss of pain.

“I’m glad Natasha did that for us, me and Marta. She was so miserable on the run. I kinda enjoyed the challenge, it was like all the training finally had a real purpose, you know? They never told me why I had to do what they made me do. They just assumed that I’d be as pliable then as I was when I was still Kenneth. They were wrong.”

“That’s the Barton pig-headedness,” Clint confirms with a smirk. “Tasha calls it that. Drives her nuts, but she’s the same. Always needs a reason.”

His face clouds as he directs Aaron down another turnoff and continues to talk.

“Barney was the same. Once he’d made up his mind there was no turning back. ‘S how we ended up in the circus. He came on SHIELD’s radar a few years ago. Running with some crew in Boston. I reached out to him and we met. He apologized for leaving me. Turned out he was now an informant for the FBI. We made plans to meet again. He got killed by his own crew in a sting two days later.”

Aaron draws a deep lungful of the stale air, trying to get his suddenly raging emotions under control.

Exhaling slowly, he says, “Sounds like he was trying to make amends. He doesn’t sound like a bad guy.”

“Yeah, he just got the short straw all his life,” Clint concludes. “I’m sorry he didn’t get to meet you. Think he must’ve felt guilty for what happened to you. He never talked about you. He’d have gotten a kick out of you being all Superman now.”

“I’m not Superman, you jackass. You’re the superhero, I’m just a lowly government operative,” Aaron snarks.

“Ya just need a superhero name, is all,” Clint replies, his voice slurring and Aaron has to take even more of his weight.

“Yeah, right. Got any ideas about what that could be, Hawkeye?” Aaron asks, trying to keep his suddenly flagging brother engaged.

“Nope, thought you’re the brains. Or so you claim…”

Aaron smirks, “Don’t sell yourself short, old man. You’re pretty damn smart when you…” Aaron’s pep talk is interrupted by an explosion from the direction they’re headed in.

Clint’s head snaps up to find his brothers eyes as dust rains down on them from above.

“What the hell?” Clint breathes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna for helping me figure out the characters. And to missm0neypenny, your comments cracked me up and made my day, thanks so much for your help fixing my grammar and for making sure the thing was readable. And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on.
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who commented or kudo'd so far, I love and cherish every one of you. Keep those comments coming, so I know what worked for you :)

Minute tremors course through Clint’s muscles and he’s either cold or burning up and sweaty. He’s about to lose himself in his thoughts, not even the banter with Aaron enough to keep him in the here and now. His injured leg is throbbing, though the bandage is holding this time. His other leg is sore from limping, the strain traveling through his butt into his back and, if he’s honest with himself, it’s only Aaron’s strength and his own determination holding him up. Having Aaron with him is soothing, he’s reminding Clint more and more of Natasha the longer they are alone together. Same quick mind and inherent strength, though Aaron’s moral code seems more along Clint’s own than Natasha’s more flexible one.

Suddenly a small explosion from the direction they’re headed has Clint snapping his head up and finding his brother’s eyes.

“What the hell?” Clint breathes out as dust rains down on them from the ceiling.

“Do you think that’s a rescue squad or…” Aaron asks quietly, his left hand securely wrapped around Clint’s own, and Clint is glad for the added support.

“I hope so, but I don’t really think so. Fury said we’d be on our own until we make it to extraction. But maybe? Coulson can be persuasive,” Clint muses as he watches Aaron’s brows draw together in thought.

“What can you tell me about the mine layout ahead of us?” Aaron asks, and Clint thinks he can almost hear the thoughts rush through his brother’s head.

“No more turnoffs, just a few bends.”

Aaron nods, saying, “The way I see it we have two, or well, three options. We can go on, see who we run into and hope for the best. We can also go back to the last turnoff and wait for them there, it would offer us a bit more cover if they’re hostiles. But it would also take us back towards anyone coming from the collapse. Or,” and here he looks at Clint and squeezes his wrist, “we stay here, make a stand, see who’s coming. But whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

A sudden lump in his throat, Clint takes a deep breath and tries to clear his jumbled thoughts and emotions. Aaron won’t leave him; he won’t be alone in the dark again. He’s not alone. That realization makes it easier to breathe and allows him to focus.

It’s a no-brainer, really, Clint thinks. “Third option is the most viable. I can’t draw my bow if we’re walking towards them. And it’s too long back to the last turnoff. I’ll never make it until whoever’s coming reaches us.”

Aaron nods his assent; a grim smile gives his face a predatory look in the flashlight’s pale light. “Will you be okay to stand and draw if you have the wall as support? I’d need my hands free in case they’re hostiles.”

Clint’s muscles protest at the idea, but he bites his tongue and nods, “Mind over matter, right?”

Aaron scoffs, “Well, birdbrain, we’ll see how that goes.”

Clint chuckles and leans against the cool earth of the tunnel wall. “Get my bow, will ya, asshat?”

Aaron lets go of Clint who immediately misses his brother’s support. His right leg is shaky and his left throbs relentlessly, the painkillers slowly wearing off. He can feel Aaron free the bow from its holster and then the familiar grip is pressed into his hands. Clint unfolds it with a quick snap of his wrist, the sleek recurve bow like an extension of his self. He nocks an arrow and draws the string. The muscles in his arms tremble as if he had shot for hours already. Fuck.

“Probably won’t be good for more than one shot, kiddo,” he admits as he gently releases the tension from the string, his hands shaking.

Aaron looks at him from where he readies his gun, his brow furrowed.

A wicked smile plays over his lips and he says, “Then make it count, old man.”

Clint mirrors Aaron’s smile, thinking You’re a Barton alright. Then Aaron turns off the Mag-Lite and plunges the tunnel into absolute darkness.

Aaron is soundless on the other side of the tunnel. Only a few feet separate them but Clint can’t hear him breathe. It may be drowned out by the blood pulsing loudly in his ears, or it may be Aaron’s ability to remain absolutely still if he has to and Clint suddenly remembers the leopard he killed. His brother is so much like the large feline that a chill runs through him and clammy sweat coats his body as his fevered mind replaces the spotted fur with tanned skin.

Spots of light dance over the tunnel walls ahead of Clint and for a moment he thinks he’s imagining them, the whole situation a nightmare. Then a black clad figure rounds the corner, M-4 at the ready and Clint draws his bow with trembling hands, his arms stiff and his breath labored. The person at the bend is wearing a headlamp and a second one clad the same way joins it momentarily. The light is blinding, yet too far away to catch Aaron or Clint in its beam yet. Clint hears voices, but his ears are nowhere near as good as his eyes and he can’t make out what they’re saying over the rush of blood in his ears. His bowstring pulled tight, he musters his last reserves. The headlamps’ lights dance and multiply in front of him, coming closer. His whole body is shaking, but he’s determined to take at least one of them out when a familiar voice calls his name.

“Hawkeye! Stand down.”

“Coulson?” he mutters and relief sweeps through him, taking with it the adrenaline he’s been running on. His muscles go slack, the drawn arrow releases as his vision blurs and fades. He hits the floor a second after his bow.

 <><><><><><>

“Clint!” Aaron yells and lunges as time slows to a crawl when his brother crumples and falls. Aaron’s bruised back shrieks as he dives forward, but despite the close quarters he’s not fast enough to prevent Clint from hitting the floor. Sliding forward on his front, Aaron feels the skin on his knuckles split as he reaches to at least get his hands under Clint’s head and then there’s a sharp pain as the weight of it slams his hands against the dirt floor. He pays it no mind; only focused on Clint’s slack face he immediately searches out the pulse point. Relief floods him when he finds a good one, too fast and a little too shallow, but there. Clint’s skin is sweaty and warm beneath his hands, and Aaron can hear his strained breathing now.

Aaron feels the floor shake with the impact of heavy soled feet approaching at a trot and then a hand on his bicep squeezes once.

“Let him go, son, we’ve brought help. Carter here needs space to work,” Coulson says.

A latex-gloved hand settles over Aaron’s underneath Clint’s head and he takes it as permission to let go and slowly straightens up.

“What happened,” the medic, Carter, asks as he opens his pack and starts his exam.

“A piece of lumber pierced his thigh, jagged edges, about two inches in diameter at the widest part. We had to remove it so we could get moving. I applied the field bandage, but it came loose, he started bleeding again,” Aaron explains, self-loathing slipping into his voice. “I couldn’t get it to stop by applying pressure, so I cauterized.”

“You what?” Carter replies, incredulous.

“There was no other choice. I was careful, and he hasn’t bled since.”

Carter checks the bandage and presses his fingers against Clint’s ankle before he replies, “Looks solid now. Not too tight, good pulse. He’ll need debridement and cleaning in surgery in any case.”

Aaron relaxes slightly and watches as Carter cuts Clint’s shirt open and slaps electrodes on his brother’s chest before he hooks him up to a small portable EKG. He watches the line dance fast and a little irregularly across the display, the number for the pulse too high and Aaron’s chest clenches.

“Did he hydrate since it happened?” Carter asks Aaron.

He shakes his head, “Hardly, we lost almost all provisions in the blast. We had a liter between the two of us. I made him drink most of that.”

The beam of Carter’s headlamp finds Aaron’s face and the medic simply states, “Yeah, you don’t look so good either, buddy.”

He’s hardly finished his reprimand when Coulson presses an open bottle of water into Aaron’s hand. He takes it with a tight smile of thanks and greedily chugs it down while Carter inserts an IV into Clint’s hand and starts a saline drip.

“Did he have painkillers?” the medic asks next.

“Yeah, I had two ibus in my pack. I gave them to him about two hours ago.”

“Alright, then we can wrap him up to go now and get the hell out of Dodge,” Carter says with a smirk, then addresses the other two agents with him and Coulson. “Perry, Cline, bring the stretcher.”

Aaron throws his empty bottle aside and joins Carter by his brother, his hands on Clint’s legs.

“We’ll roll him on his side, then Perry and Cline can maneuver the stretcher behind him and we’ll roll him back on,” the medic instructs and Aaron nods his assent.

They do as instructed, and Carter straps Clint onto the stretcher then moves to the head of it and Aaron gets to the foot.

“You up for it, bud?” Carter asks him as he’s about to pick up the handles. “You seriously don’t look too good.”

“He’s my brother. I can and will get him out of here. I promised,” Aaron says with determination.

His shoulders twinge, pain flashes through his head with every beat of his heart and he winces as he and Carter pick up his brother. Coulson appears next to him like he was conjured there, a feat Aaron has come to admire in the senior agent. He’s carrying Clint’s bow and quiver in one hand and has Aaron’s pack slung over his back.

“The mission was a success, by the way,” Coulson explains as they walk. He smirks, “Except for you two, well, almost buried alive.”

“Clint was convinced that SHIELD wouldn’t come for us,” Aaron says, and tries to keep his voice level despite the pain in his back.

“Clint’s an idiot,” Coulson deadpans, affection bleeding through. “Of course we’d come for two of our best assets.”

Aaron smiles and breathes easier at the knowledge that someone has his back now. But there is something he has to know.

“How did you find us?”

Coulson’s face is back to his perfect public servant mask when he answers. “We never lost you. We just lost communication when you went into the mine. But we tracked you with the same tech we used to map the tunnels in the first place. And I know Clint. I know he memorized the whole layout. We saw where you were headed and I thought we’d give you a lift.”

“Thanks, I really appreciate it. Clint needs a doc asap,” Aaron replies, his voice husky with worry for his brother.

“The exit is just around the corner. We brought a chopper. Clint will be in med bay in no time.”

Aaron breathes a sigh of relief; Clint is no lightweight, and Aaron feels the strain of the night now. Despite the water he’s had, he feels more and more lightheaded, the hot and humid air in the tunnel making deep breaths near impossible.

They round the corner and Aaron can see light at the end of the tunnel. The chopper is silhouetted against the morning sky and they increase the pace. The first breath of fresh air finds them right before the tunnel’s opening and Aaron inhales deeply. His shoulders seize and he groans as they cross the last few paces to the chopper.

“Agent Cross, are you alright?” Carter calls in front of him as they lower the stretcher onto the ground.

Aaron can only shake his head as lights dance in front of his eyes and he falls to his knees.

He hears Coulson say something he thinks is “Fucking pigheaded Bartons” and then there’s an arm around his chest and another cradles his head. Coulson’s voice in his ear says, “You did good kid, let me take it from here.”

Aaron lets go.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic was written for a prompt by my friend soncnica, who asked for brotherly bonding after we watched The Avengers and The Bourne Legacy together :) I hope you like it, babe!
> 
> Lots of love to my betas!!! To anuna for helping me figure out how the characters tick :D And to missm0neypenny, your lovely comments made me chuckle and your eagle eye was wonderful, thanks so much! :D And a special thanks to venitinmentem for helping me stay sane and cheering me on, and to frea_o for word wars and pointing out that I overused passive voice ;) Last but not least I'd like to thank inkvoices again for the gorgeous icons :) Thanks ladies, you are awesome!
> 
> Finally, a really big, big thank you to everyone who commented, kudo'd, favorited or in any other way let me know that they enjoyed this fic. I loved writing it, I love this verse and I love these boys. I love the girls just as much and I missed them in this story, but this was about the brothers bonding. So if you enjoyed it, please let me know. Interaction with the readers is the only payment a fanfic author gets and I'd love to hear from you. Now I hope you enjoy the last chapter, it's a short one ;)

Clint wakes slowly. Nothing hurts, his brain feels like it’s packed in cotton wool and that is his first indication that he’s in medical. Again. The steady beeps of a heart rate monitor are his second, and if he needed more proof, the scratchy sheets would complete the picture. He sighs and experimentally moves his fingers and toes. He concludes happily that everything works, although he can feel a dull ache in his left thigh. Someone clears their throat to his right and Clint lazily blinks open his eyes as he turns towards the sound.

“Look who’s back,” Aaron says from the bed next to him. He’s lying on his left side and smiles at Clint when their eyes meet.

“Whatcha doing here?” Clint asks, genuinely dumbfounded.

Aaron lifts his bandaged right hand, an IV port protruding from it.

“Dehydration. And I bruised my back when that brace fell on me,” Aaron explains, his grin sheepish.

“You’re an idiot,” Clint replies as the door opens and Coulson strides in.

“He’s a Barton, what do you expect?” Coulson says with that annoying smirk of his and Clint has to grin.

“I would be offended if I didn’t feel so good right now,” Clint throws back just as Aaron splutters a very dignified, “What?”

“Get used to the feeling, Clint, you’re gonna be here a while. Doctor Webber patched up your leg and it should be good as new in a few weeks. But you’ve earned yourself a few days of IV antibiotics thanks to a nice infection setting in. Congratulations,” Coulson deadpans. “You’ll probably feel worse before you feel better, though.”

“Anyone ever tell you that your bedside manner sucks?” Aaron asks.

Coulson turns to him and says, “I’m supposed to tell you that Dr. Shearing is stuck in the pressure chamber with an experiment until tomorrow morning. She sends her regards and you are to meet her in your quarters when you leave tomorrow.”

“She didn’t say it like that, did she?” Aaron asks.

“No, she didn’t. But when I told her that you’re going to be good to go tomorrow she stopped yelling immediately.”

Aaron lets out a deep breath and Clint smiles at the look of relief on his younger brother’s face.

Clint’s throat is suddenly dry, as he wishes for Natasha to call him an idiot and other things while running her fingers through his hair.

Coulson’s eyes find his and as if he could read Clint’s mind he says, “Natasha knows and is expected back stateside within forty-eight hours. Well, knowing her, she’ll be here by morning.”

Clint grins at the accuracy of the statement.

Coulson turns to leave, already at the door when he seems to think better of it and addresses them both.

“One more thing. Should you ever consider procreating, please try to make sure your women’s DNA is prevalent. I won’t survive another generation of Bartons.”

Aaron looks at Clint with big eyes and snorts out a laugh as the door closes behind Coulson. It’s infectious and Clint can’t resist joining in. His brother’s eyes crinkle with laugh lines and Clint sees his shoulders relax as Aaron gives into the moment. A warm and fuzzy feeling spreads through Clint at the shared mirth. He laughs until his side hurts and exhaustion gently pulls him towards sleep. His brother’s melodious chuckles are his lullaby and he dreams of three little boys laughing and playing catch in the prairie grass amidst large shade trees. He sleeps soundly that night.


End file.
